The Trainer (21 page)

Would it work on a slave? A lot of them were
very talkative, that was for sure! Hours and hours of dreams and
fantasies, days worth of stories of experiences—he had watched the
tapes, scanned through many transcripts. Some slaves, you just
couldn’t shut up, once they got started.

And then there were slaves like Tara. She
was a hard nut to crack, although she didn’t seem to try to hide
anything. It was just that she answered questions quickly, to the
point, and often in as few words as possible. Was that something
her master liked, or something Anderson taught?

How can I get her to talk more, he wondered.
Is that what this was all about? To show me how to seduce answers
from someone? But why should I have to? I’m her trainer! She should
know that she has to tell me everything! How can I be expected to
know what to even ask, if she doesn’t lead me with her answers? He
tried to reconstruct exactly what Emil did, what he said, but there
were no secrets he could find there.

The next time he had time with Tara, he kept
his cock tucked away and started her on a more relaxed interview
style. He didn’t even have her strip, although that had become
standard behavior. Nope, he sat her down in a chair opposite him
and crossed one ankle over his knee and asked, “Tell me about how
you found the Marketplace.”

Tara nodded as she gathered her thoughts,
her soft, “Yes, sir,” pleasant. “I was in college,” she said. “My
junior year. I knew that I was a slave in my soul, but I had
some... not bad experiences, but sad ones, with lovers who didn’t
support my fantasies, or approve of them, really. I had decided to
make my life a form of service. I was going to work for some
struggling legal aid society or maybe be a fundraiser for a group
that helped battered women or runaway teenagers or homebound
elderly. Somewhere, where what I did could make a difference, and
where the workload would be too much to support much of a social
life.

“One afternoon, while doing volunteer work
at a meals on wheels place, I met the woman who spotted me,
Corazon. She did occasional work there as well, not regularly, but
everyone seemed to know her. We became friends. She seemed wild and
exciting, but was fun to be with and just a joy. No matter how hard
my day was, she could say a word and I would want to go and do what
she had planned. I trusted her, too, enough to finally tell her one
day why my old relationships never seemed to work. And that was the
day she told me that she was a sadomasochist, and that she
understood both my need to serve and my desire to be owned.”

She blushed a little as she said this, and
suddenly, Michael realized that Corazon must have seduced her as
well. That was to be expected—the Marketplace valued slaves who
were bisexual, but he had somehow never actually asked Tara if she
had women in her past as well as men.

He looked at her, sitting up correctly, but
not too stiff, her pretty breasts neat under the simple dress she
wore while serving, her shapely legs demurely together. It was easy
to imagine her in the embrace of another woman—a darker-skinned
woman, tan to her fair, with dark curly hair, and deep, dark eyes,
maybe with curvy hips and a sensuous smile. Just enough to melt
that slight chill that Michael occasionally felt from Tara. Long,
pecan-colored fingers stroking those pert, pale breasts while Tara
moaned and gasped and begged for more, the way he had taught
her.

He couldn’t keep himself from just lightly
touching his crotch. His cock was already hard, eager at the image
his mind had conjured up. “Very nice,” he said, not quite sure
whether he was remarking on her answer or the fantasy image. “What
did she do with you?“

“Sir, I am unsure what information you wish
from me, I apologize. Do in what way, sir?”

“Well, did she play with you? Have sex with
you?”

A soft smile, a softening of her eyes. Tara
nodded and said, “Oh, yes, sir. Although I had some experience
before, she took me to places I had never been. She was the first
who made me cry while beating me. She enjoyed severe bondage and
often made me beg for mercy just from that, even before there was
any other kind of torture.”

“Oh, yeah?” Michael shifted in his seat,
aching to touch the slave. So odd, to see this older woman as the
target of a Marketplace spotter—but if she had been spotted back in
college... in her twenties? He would have to dig out her file and
look at it again. How long had she been a slave? Was there even
some sort of SM scene back then?

Tara nodded again, and continued. “She
introduced me to many things, sir. Every day with her was
discovering something new about her tastes or myself—and as we grew
to know each other, I knew more and more about what I needed. I
craved guidance. I wanted to feel needed and used and appreciated,
with fewer choices and more direction. Most of all, she made me
realize that I wanted to be owned. And when I told her that, she
began to tell me about the Marketplace.”

“So... you told her you wanted an owner
first,” Michael repeated.

“Oh, yes,” Tara said. “In fact, I told her I
would give up everything to be owned and used properly. But she
insisted that I stay in school, and little by little, she told me
that she knew places where that sort of thing could happen—that she
knew people who did this in an organized and ethical way. I began
to dream of it.”

“And then she brought you in, huh?”

“She left me alone for the last part of my
senior year. After I finished my degree, I went straight back to
her,” Tara said. “All I could think of was our time together and
what she told me about the Marketplace—and how I could be valued if
I stayed in school and had a marketable skill. In my last year, I
took accounting courses and as many pre-law courses as I could
handle. I sharpened my typing skills, and learned word processing
and database software. And when I went back to her with my resume,
she took me at once into formal training. She was like a dream come
true for me, my way into a fantastic world I’d only dreamed of. I
will never forget her, or the trust she had in me.”

“Wow,” Michael said. But the story made him
annoyed. So, she was spotted and trained by the same person, huh?
Someone who actually sent her away and then trusted her to come
back, like it was that easy! He knew it wasn’t that simple, it
wasn’t that clear cut. Tara could have walked away from the whole
thing, gotten engaged, or married. Or just forgotten it, and gone
into the soft world, to...

“Enough about that,” he said, snapping his
fingers. “Time to remember what a slut you are. Here’s a dream come
true for you, slave girl, one hard cock.”

She went instantly to her knees, her fingers
undoing the buttons on her dress. As gracefully as possible while
down there, she stripped off her dress and her bra, and shimmied
her panties down her thighs, lifting one knee at a time to free
them from her legs.

“Thank you, sir,” she said when she was
naked at last, and he had her crawl to him while he got his own
cock out. He kept the condoms close at hand these days, and he
slipped one onto himself, not trusting his control. At this point,
he didn’t care that the reservoir tip made her gag.

Making her gag was part of his
intention.

He came while his cock was buried deep into
her throat, while her face was bright red and tear-streaked. He
held onto her head with both hands, wishing he could really mark
her, and wishing he knew why he was suddenly so angry. But she
thanked him again, kissing the tops of his shoes, before gathering
her clothing and leaving the room in silence.

He panted out deep breaths, looking down at
his spent cock, lying limp across his fly, and his hands balled
into fists. Damn all of them, he thought wildly. Damn them all for
thinking it’s all so easy, for just knowing when it’s the right
time, and who the right person is. I can see! I can ask questions!
I’ve got a brain!

Then why did it all happen the way it
did?

He stripped his own clothing off, suddenly
hot, and threw a robe on to walk down the hall and take a long, hot
shower. It was too painful to think of the one time he had to show
off what he could do.

After her initial errors in negotiating,
Karen eagerly allowed him to do pretty much anything he wanted to.
She shivered when he told her he wanted to see her whipped by a
woman, but she nodded and took it, every stroke making her yelp in
pain. The leatherdyke in chaps and vest really put her through her
paces, and left marks—it was a fabulous beating. Her skill with a
single tail was what had attracted Michael’s attention from the
start, and he was very pleased. Not only did his chosen surrogate
top work out, but Karen was deliciously and properly grateful,
cowering on the stone floor of the party space to drop licks and
kisses on the boots of her tormentor and her weekend master.

“Would you like to fuck her?” he asked the
sweating woman, pitching his voice so that Karen could hear him
clearly.

“Hell yeah, sure—but I don’t do guys. Even
when they’re cute like you!” They laughed together, and Michael
liked her even more. He nudged Karen with his foot and said, “Get
up and collect my toys, slut. You need to get fucked.”

And sweet Karen, bold Karen, with the
dancing eyes and the charming smile, had leapt up, done exactly
what he told her, and never uttered a single word of discouragement
to the three-way that became the centerpiece of the party. With a
dildo, his cock, and their four hands, Michael and his new and
temporary friend worked her over, invading every orifice, trying
out every combination possible, literally using Karen until she
begged for mercy. And she did beg—desperately, her words disjointed
and jumbled. But she never used the magic word which would end the
scene. Instead, she tried to plead with them, making promises,
crying, and finally screaming herself hoarse.

When the party ended, Michael had to
half-carry her back to his room, where finally, she would spend the
night on the floor, cradled in a tangle of blankets and sheets. He
knew that she didn’t fall asleep for a long time, because he wasn’t
sleepy himself. But he enjoyed the feel of the room, her heavy,
harsh breathing, and the thought that he had spent a thoroughly
enjoyable weekend among the mundanes. And never did he reveal a
single thing about his business or the Marketplace—he felt
justifiably proud of that. Karen was obviously prime Marketplace
material—a few more sessions like this weekend, and he would be
able to bring her in himself.

He would have to convince Geoff to let him
manage her training. And why not? Geoff would see that she had the
potential, and permission would certainly be granted. Then, he
could train her, write her contract, and be both her spotter and
trainer of record. Geoff would give him a cut of the proper
training house fee. And what’s more, he would be fully established
as a trainer, and one who could spot. The bright young star of the
Californian Marketplace. He could write it up, describe the weekend
and his thoughts about Karen, and become one of the subjects that
other trainers read about when they aspired to that level of
mastery. Soon, he’d have his own training facility, with his own
special customers, just like Geoff. With assistant trainers to do
all the shit work, and an endless stream of young, hot slavemeat of
both genders to use, abuse, and fix up for some lucky owner. He’d
never be bored, and never want for anything.

The only problem would be to make sure that
Karen didn’t fall in love with him. It happened all the
time—transference, identification, you name it. Slaves fell for
their trainers like teenage girls go for hairless girl-looking
boys, naturally, and deeply. So you had to establish a distance,
early on, and keep them off guard. Be just unpleasant enough to
make them doubt that they truly loved you. Oh yeah, that would be a
piece of cake.

Other than that, he would have to do just a
little training, to make sure she was really Marketplace material
and not just into this stuff for the weekend. It didn’t take all
that much to be a good slave for two days. He would have to test
her—try her out in any number of things, sexual acts and personal
service. Push her, take her to her limits and bring her back
again.

But he could do this! He had already
started, hadn’t he? It was only natural to take things to the next
step. And once he did—if she was as good as she seemed—he could be
the perfect Marketplace professional, a spotter and trainer all in
one! Even Geoff didn’t spot!

Karen took to his subtle steering in
predictable stages. She was more than eager to continue seeing him
beyond the weekend, and had in fact been agonizing over not being
able to keep in touch as they both lay awake far into the night.
Over a breakfast of waffles and strawberries in the hotel coffee
shop, Michael assured her that he would love to continue seeing
her—but that he had no intention of being her boyfriend.

“I’m not the settle down and marry kind of
guy,” he explained. “I’m the master, and you’re the slave-to-be,
and that’s the only relationship I’m interested in pursuing. But if
you’re into it, if you really want it—need it, even—I can make you
into a perfect slave. I can teach you everything you’d ever need to
know about service. But you have to understand that I’ll never be a
guy to take home to meet the parents.”

“I understand,” Karen had responded. Her
waffles were barely nibbled at. Her eyes were ringed darkly, partly
because of the lack of sleep and partly because of an errant cuff
or two the previous night. Her whole body seemed achey and marked,
and she was as tense over breakfast as she had been kneeling on the
dungeon floor. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted, master.”

Perfect, perfect! Michael nodded looked at
her with a cool, distant expression on his face. “Then get down on
the floor,” he said softly.